ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS

by Murray Mcdonald

  “Can you track ships?” asked the Senator.

  “I have no idea, but I know a woman who might!” Sam leaned out the window and called Rebecca in, bringing her up to speed.

  “The answer is, in theory, yes. As long as they have a transponder, it’s just like aircraft really, they send a signal out and tell others where they are.”

  Both knew about aircraft transponders. Aircraft sent out a signal that air traffic controllers could use to accurately plot specific aircraft positions.

  “Do all boats have to have one?”

  “Don’t think so. I think it’s just bigger boats, but I’m not sure if our guys would have one transmitting.”

  “Oh, they will,” replied Sam. “These guys have fooled everybody. They wouldn’t make a simple mistake, like not transponding if they have to. They’d be shining a big spotlight on themselves.”

  “Okay, well, we just need a computer then.”

  “We can do it ourselves?” asked the Senator.

  Rebecca was already halfway out of the room as the others struggled to catch up. The manager was kindly asked if his computer could be borrowed. Faced with the three very anxious faces of Sam, Charles and Rebecca, he had little choice. He led them to his office and went for a break.

  “You’ve done this before,” stated the Senator.

  “A few times,” replied Rebecca with a smile as she logged onto marinetraffic.com and waited for the map to load.

  “Okay, I presume we want the east coast?”

  “Definitely,” replied Sam as a number of boxes appeared on the map next to America, each with a number in the box, signifying how many ships there were in each sector.

  “Jesus, there are hundreds, it’ll take us hours.”

  Rebecca shook her head and selected the ‘Vessel’ tab.

  “What’s the name?”

  Rebecca typed in Sergey Vazlav and the details instantly appeared.

  “Gulf of St Lawrence, Canada.”

  “Holy shit, we did it!”

  “How far are they from New York?” asked Sam, suddenly realizing that was the nearest city.

  “Just over six hundred miles, give or take,” replied Rebecca, roughly working it out.

  “Jesus, they’re just about in range and they’ll come in over land, not from the sea.”

  “I need to use your phone!” The Senator put his hand out to Rebecca. She had assured them earlier that her phone could not be traced or tracked.

  Senator Charles Baker made a phone call that made his stomach churn.

  “I need to speak with the President urgently!” he said as the White House picked up his call.

  ***

  As they were retrieving the name of the ship, Akram Rayyan was in the process of making the information irrelevant. They had sailed into the Gulf of St Lawrence and as they approached Prince Edward Island, he had called on his men to make the preparations.

  The World War Two equipment was unloaded, and the scaffolding blocks were bolted onto the deck as they had been during all of their previous test runs. This time was for real. The empty containers which had blocked the outside world’s view were thrown overboard. They were now redundant. The scaffolding ran for sixty feet along the deck and protruded over the water below. While half of the crew prepared the catapult, the other half prepared the aircraft. Two wings were removed from one container while the main body of the aircraft came from another. The Second World War fighter came to life as the wings were bolted on. The weapon had already been stored within the fuselage of the aircraft. What had been a deadly fighter in its day, seventy years earlier, had become the deadliest aircraft ever made, seventy years later.

  The Hawker Sea Hurricane had been devised as a fighter of last resort to protect the vital convoys plying the seas between America, Britain and Russia. It afforded protection to convoys against the marauding Focke-Wulf of the German Luftwaffe. The Hurricanes were flown by very brave pilots, who knew there was nowhere to land once they were propelled into the sky. The Allies, without enough ships to launch aircraft, devised the catapult system, similar to the systems used on modern aircraft carriers. Rockets would fire the aircraft from standing to flight speed almost instantly.

  Akram instructed the crew to lift the plane into position. They lifted the relic, brought back to life after being found in Malta, and guided it carefully onto the runners that now sat on top of the deck. The rocket mechanism was fixed to the base and the thumbs-up signaled around the deck. The plane was ready.

  Everything that had to be said, already had been. The pilot, on seeing the thumbs-up, boarded the aircraft, and immediately ignited the old but reliable Rolls Royce Merlin engine. It fired into life and warmed up. Akram instructed the ship to turn into the wind. The pins securing the plane were removed and the pilot applied thirty-degree flaps and a one-third rudder, just as he had been taught during training. He then opened the throttle to full, pushed his head into the headrest and signaled for the rockets to be fired.

  The plane surged forward under a hail of Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! And dropped from the end of the rail towards the ocean.

  Akram’s heart sank with the plane, but the power of the engine kicked in, and the nose pulled up and leveled, before powering the plane up and away. A tear left Akram’s eye as he thought of the glory that would be with them all soon. Before the old plane was out of sight, the deck structure was broken down and discarded overboard. Sergey Vazlav turned and tried to get as much distance between itself and the floating containers as possible.

  Chapter 89

  “I have Senator Charles Baker for you, Mr. President,” offered Nancy.

  Fortunately, Johnson and Preston who were currently with the President were facing away from her and she did not see the look of horror on their faces.

  “Okay, put him through.” The President wasn’t quick enough to think of anything else.

  “Charles?” said the President.

  “Fuck you, Russell…” that was unfortunately the best Charles Baker could come up with on hearing the President’s voice. Sam waved at him wildly to calm down.

  “…I’ve got the name and location of the freighter you need,” he added quickly, before the President hung up.

  The President had the phone half down when he heard the name and location. He hit the speaker button, so all could hear.

  “Sergey Vazlav, Gulf of Lawrence.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” replied the President with genuine gratitude. He, of course, was genuine. Charles Baker had just secured Russell’s re-election.

  “Before you get too excited, we think they have probably launched. They’re in range of New York.”

  “Christ!” said Russell, realizing that two-million deaths was synonymous with New York.

  ***

  Preston was already on to the Joint Chiefs as the President ended the call with Baker. Two minutes later, they called back. The carrier George H.W. Bush was nearest in the vicinity, and had sent a squadron of F/A18 Super Hornets to the area. They would be in position in less than twenty minutes.

  They were also scrambling every piece of kit that could spot or shoot down the Hurricane, towards the northern states.

  Twenty minutes later, the President’s office was patched into the chatter between the pilots and the carrier.

  “Avenger, this is Squadron Leader, we have visual on Sergey Vazlav. I repeat we have visual.”

  “Team Leader, this is Avenger, can you confirm status of launch?”

  “Avenger, no aircraft visible, but freighter is steaming north. I repeat, steaming north.”

  “Fuuuuuuck!” screamed the President, fearing the worst.

  “Avenger, crew are on deck, gesticulating at us. Going for closer look.”

  “Avenger, crew laughing at us. Fear aircraft launched, reports of containers floating south of here.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!!!” screamed the President slamming his desk. The phone buzzed. Preston answered.

  “It’s the Joint Chie
fs, Mr. President. What do you want them to do? Our nearest asset is two hours away. The Canadians can take them into custody. They can be there in twenty minutes. Our fighters can keep watch on them until then.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?! The Canadians will never hand them over. Those pricks will be on planes back to wherever they crawled out from in a month!”

  “Blow them the fuck away and I mean away!”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  ***

  Akram had seen the jets shooting towards them over the horizon and knew they had been found. The Americans were too late; the plane was already on its way. He called his men on deck who jumped and whooped as the American fighters flew past with inches to spare.

  Akram knew it was over when four pulled off and swooped up in the sky. He had seen enough movies to know that they were positioning themselves for an attack. He called his men together and they prayed to Allah as the four missiles evaporated them.

  ***

  “Avenger, this is Team Leader. I hope you don’t mind, but we used four Harpoons. Those fuckers are well and truly gone!”

  The President slammed the desk as the news came though. “Every one of those boys gets a medal from me. I want them in Corpus tomorrow, Henry.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Now, find that plane!”

  ***

  It seemed Deif had one more trick up his sleeve. The pilot of the Hurricane flew less than a hundred feet above the ground. His route was carefully calculated to minimize likely sightings which, in the sparsely populated north eastern states of America, was not difficult. His small GPS device ensured he was within meters of where his route should be, and gave him a significant advantage over his predecessors. The route took him inland, before commencing his run to the south, running past New York and turning to the heart of the birth of the American nation, just seventy-seven miles away, to Philadelphia. Although smaller than New York, the city was contained within a smaller area. A 2,000 feet airburst over Philadelphia was, according to the calculations, up near the million mark.

  Deif had anticipated the evacuation of both New York and Washington and as such, had ruled them out. He wanted to maximize the death toll and Philadelphia, un-evacuated, would give him the largest potential death toll that he could achieve.

  Chapter 90

  Ahmed Hameed had talked until he was blue in the face, but nobody was listening. His network had come through and he had tracked down the three other controllers. He had spent the last three hours trying to make them understand the opportunity that lay before them. Firing the devices would end nothing. Not firing them, could end everything. As the time neared midnight, the men prepared to leave. They had orders to follow. Deif had been explicit. Unless he told them otherwise, the weapons should be fired.

  Ahmed explained again that were Deif there, he would want them not to fire. The opportunity for a true Palestinian nation was at their fingertips. The scoffs of derision at the words of Ben Meir being believed, insulted Ahmed. It was one thing to scoff at Ben Meir, but these men were now scoffing at him.

  He stood up and commanded silence. He gave each of them an ultimatum that, should he be wrong, they should fire their weapons immediately.

  All looked at each other and nodded. If Ahmed Hameed wanted to commit suicide, that was his problem. At least two of the men fancied their chances at taking command. And if Ahmed was to be believed, Deif would not be coming back anyway.

  Nods around the table gave Ahmed the go ahead. However, he was warned that he had until midnight, or else the weapons would be fired.

  Ahmed checked his watch. Just fifteen minutes remained. Hardly time to get to the border, never mind trying to get through, he thought, as he ran towards the cars parked below. A small crowd followed him and then a convoy was soon tracing its way towards the Israeli border. Its walls loomed large, its watchtowers looming even higher. The snipers that waited for any attempt to break her defenses, watched on silently.

  Ben had offered this as rock solid proof. If Ahmed didn’t believe him, he should attempt to cross the border after 11pm. Ben emphasized with a smile that he would be well rewarded.

  For the first time in his life, Ahmed Hameed was going to listen to the word of a Jew. He stepped down from his car and walked the final two-hundred yards towards the gates. He looked back and could see the men who held the fate of a nation in their hands, holding the devices that would send the signals. Their eyes were as much on Ahmed as they were on their watches. They were not going to give him a second to spare. Ahmed picked up the pace and waited for the Israeli to prove his doubts wrong.

  Ahmed reached the gates, and no bullets had struck him yet. He pushed on the gates and his life ended.

  Chapter 91

  The President couldn’t sit still. Two million dead. The number was becoming a reality as he paced his office. Before, it had just seemed like a number. He normally dealt in billions, trillions even, but that was dollars, not human beings. The number was massive. How could he not have ordered the evacuation? He had not only lost any chance of re-election; he had lost his soul.

  Henry Preston tried to keep him calm. They still had ten minutes until midnight in Israel.

  “Mr. President, we still have time.”

  “Even if we get to the bomb now, it’ll be so close, it’s irrelevant.”

  “Sir, the bomb will only detonate if it is triggered correctly. If we get to it before then, we may be okay.”

  Henry looked at the screen in the Situation Room. New York was literally swamped with military fighters. New Yorkers must have thought a war had started with the number of jets that were overhead. Air Force F15s, F16s and F22s, from as far south as South Carolina were joined by F18s from the Carriers Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, and Harry S Truman.

  There was no way the Hurricane could evade such an overwhelming force. There was just no way. It didn’t make sense and in Henry’s book, things didn’t not make sense. He looked again at the map and grabbed the intercom and instructed the search be widened to include Philadelphia and Washington. They couldn’t find him because he was going somewhere else, figured Henry.

  ***

  Captain John Fuentes had just kicked in his afterburner as he lifted his F-22 raptor off from Langley Air Force Base and was touching Mach 2 when the call came in. He was being reassigned to Philadelphia. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. The likelihood of anything happening to Philly was low, compared to New York or Washington.

  Almost as soon as he had pulled back the throttle, Philadelphia appeared below him. He plugged into the E-3 Sentry that was circling far overhead, and looking down on the area below. Nothing. He could see nothing that shouldn’t be there.

  But looking down, Captain Fuentes did see what millions of dollars’ worth of equipment couldn’t. He caught sight of a small flash of light, off to his left. It was moving slowly and it was close to the ground. Had it been on the road, he would have thought it was a fast car, but there was no road there, just fields. It was certainly faster than any tractor, thought Fuentes, and it was close to the city limits.

  His orders were clear. Do not, under any circumstances allow the pilot to see your approach. He powered up and over the object and pulled back, spinning in behind it. Approaching from the rear, he could see why nobody had spotted it. He was merely fifty feet off the deck and painted a green camouflage.

  ***

  The pilot could see the cityscape ahead of him, exactly as he had practiced on the flight simulator. He checked his fuel. The needle hovered just above zero. Not really an issue, he just needed enough for the next minute or so. He powered the throttle forward and began his ascent. His target was 2,000 feet and then he’d press the button to detonate the weapon. The run had been timed to perfection. Give or take a few seconds, he had arrived, right on schedule.

  His finger hovered over the firing button. “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.”

  ***

  As the clock ticked down
to 17.59.50 EST, 23.59.50 in Israel, all just stared at the clock, their breaths held. Ten seconds to detonation, if what they had been told was true. The President was almost climbing the wall. The tension in the Situation Room was unbearable.

  ***

  Captain Fuentes was caught by surprise as the bogey seemingly reacted to his presence. It accelerated and began to pull up. Fuentes followed and selected his AIM-9 Sidewinders and fired.

  ***

  The pilot watched as his level indicator read 1,900 feet. He caught a flash in the rear mirror that the Hurricane would use to spot enemies from behind and saw the sidewinder as it sped towards him. He smiled. “Allahu Akbar!” as he reached for the trigger.

  ***

  As the clock struck 17.59.58, a scream came though the intercom system. The room jumped and the President sank to the floor.

  “WOOHOO! One motherfucking bogie is down and out!” screamed Captain Fuentes into the intercom, which the E-3 Sentry had fed through to the Situation Room.

  Fuentes, for good measure, had fired all 480 of his 20mm cannon rounds as he had fired the sidewinder missiles. He would never know that if he hadn’t, the pilot would have destroyed a city, and killed almost a million people.

  As the President held his head in relief, they waited for news on Israel. The clock, showing the time in Israel, struck midnight.

  Chapter 92

  And his new life started, the gates swung freely. The post was deserted just as Ben said it would be. Ahmed turned to his compatriots who stared at him in disbelief. Surely not, the Jew had not been lying. Ahmed ventured further. There was nothing there. The army base that had kept them prisoners was deserted. Everything was gone. Nothing remained. This was not temporary.